Page 2 of Healer
I opened and closed the fist of my right hand, feeling the faint resistance in the joints, just like before. Except this time, I knew the stiffness wasn’t because I overused my hands training to be a surgeon. At least the gray aliens would spare me from the slow progression of a disease that left my life in shambles. No one would have to watch me digress into a bed-bound blob of pain-wracked jerking limbs, and drooling mindlessness.
The aliens might think they won when they finally killed me. Jokes on them.
Alien bastards... all of them.
Except him. My angel.
He appeared during the night, tending my wounds and whispering words of strength with the promise of rescue. A gorgeous Brad Pitt of an alien with beautiful golden eyes that my fractured mind conjured to help me deal with the stress.
"We could amputate her leg. I bet that would make her scream."
My eyes popped open at that comment, but I schooled my features to complacency, glaring at the creature making the ghoulish comment. He stood smaller than the others, closer to seven feet tall than eight. The quintessential alien, with a rounded triangular-shaped head and large black almond eyes that slanted upwards. Like the others, he didn't possess a nose, only two vertical slits above thin dark gray lips. He jerked when he met my gaze as though the idea I might be a sentient being something he hadn't considered.
"Don't be idiotic." The alien with the wrinkled skin spoke with a deep frown. "You cannot weaken her with an amputation. As it is, we will need to allow it a day of recuperation to ensure the results of further testing are not skewed.”
Did that fucker just call me anit?
"Let me go, you bastards!" I screamed, rather enjoying the way the aliens jumped and skittled.
Kicking against the restraints on my ankle made the metal table on which I lay creak and groan. I didn't dare move my lacerated arm. Even with a cursory glance, I noticed the cut went deep and bled profusely.
"Quickly!" The older-looking alien grabbed a long button-ended syringe and tossed it to his comrade, who stood near my head.
Seconds later, I felt the sting of cold metal against the curve of my neck, and consciousness drained out of me in the time it took to sigh.
My body came screaming awake, heart pounding in my chest, lungs craving air. I remained on the metal table but no longer bound. The faint smell of ammonia and alien alcohol hung in the air reminding me of a poorly made margarita.
Jerking into a sitting position, my head swam as my brain tried to catch up with the sudden alertness of my body.
What the hell?
The only piece of equipment remaining on the small table beside my bed was a used syringe. Benzedrine, perhaps? No. My body's reaction seemed more on par with a shot of pure adrenaline.
Even discombobulated, my training kicked in. I snatched a roll of bandage material from a nearby tray, intent on wrapping the cut on my forearm.
What the hell?
Only a faint red welt survived the gash. I flexed my arm at the elbow, stunned at the painless movement.
How long had I been unconscious? It would take at least a month for a wound of that nature to heal completely.
Blinking, I tried to gain some awareness of my surroundings. Darkness blanketed the room. The stark overhead lights dimmed to a flicker, making the assortment of metallic fixtures glow eerily white. A small yellow bulb near what I hoped might be the exit was the only brightness in the din. Silence was a soft roar broken only by the sound of my ragged breathing. Except for being locked in my cell, this was the first time I’d been left alone and unfettered.
Shit.
Could I possibly escape?
I hopped off the table, the overabundance of adrenaline in my system causing my knees to buckle dizzily. A warm bar snaked around my waist, holding me upright.
"Easy."
The voice sounded deep and male, huskier than those of the gray aliens. The words tickled as he said them close enough to my ear, his warm breath brushing my temple.
What?" I turned, getting a look at either my savior or captor.
He stood at least seven feet tall with golden tan skin—not skin, but a short, napped pelt that felt like velvet. My hands rested on biceps, as big around as my thighs. His hair was thick, wavy, and dark brown, cut short over his ears and longer in the back.
Damn. I never thought a mullet could look this good.
